


When Shapeshifting Goes Wrong

by My_Beating_Hart



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Mage AU, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 16:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5504156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mage!Theron gets Morrigan to teach him shapeshifting. Naturally, it ends up going wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Shapeshifting Goes Wrong

Zevran looked from Theron to Morrigan and back.

“You broke him.” He accused, and the apostate narrowed her eyes.

“I did no such thing. Twas his idea in the first place.” She protested, and looked at the Grey Warden standing beside them. “Tis your own fault.” Morrigan added in response to the indignant noise from Theron. “If you had been more patient, and waited until I was not busy and able to supervise you, we could have avoided this… Mess.”

The Antivan sighed, reaching out to carefully put a hand on Theron’s shoulder.

“And just how long will he be like this?” He asked resignedly.

“Forever.” Morrigan answered promptly, and she laughed at the almost identical looks of horror on their faces. “Twill take a few days, no more, and then we shall have Theron back on his feet.”

With that, the black-haired woman turned and walked back to her shelter. Theron sighed deeply, and shook his head.

“I am inclined to agree.” Zevran answered grimly, looking over the Dalish mage standing next to him. Well, he was a mage no longer. For all intents and purposes, for the next ‘few days’ Theron would be a halla stag for a change.

Zevran sighed, cursing Morrigan for having agreed to teach the Dalish elf shapeshifting. Although it had been useful, it had taken the group a few battles to not automatically target the wolf that suddenly ran among them. And now Theron’s innate ability was growing to encompass larger animals and birds, naturally one of those creatures he had decided to practice was a halla.

Seeing a distinctly unamused Morrigan leading a rather sheepish-looking halla into camp had raised several eyebrows, to say nothing of when she’d explained it was Theron rather than some wild stag she had managed to tame.

At least Theron seemed to be used to the new form; he’d walked around enough on four legs as a cat or a wolf that suddenly having four limbs to control wasn’t a large shock. The heightened senses and natural skittishness of a prey animal, however, still seemed to be new. Zevran watched Theron’s ears flicking this way and that to take in every noise around the camp and beyond, his almost delicate nostrils twitch as he assessed the breezes.

Instinctively, Theron jerked his head up when the dog got to his feet from where he had been sitting by the campfire, and thankfully missed hitting Zevran with the sharp tines of his antlers.

“Calm down, it is only Dudain. I would not let him harm you, and I think he would be devastated if he learnt it was his master he attacked.” The Antivan murmured softly, keeping a gentle hand on Theron’s shoulder in an attempt to keep him still. Theron turned his head slightly to look at the blond elf, grey eyes wide. At least his eye colour had not changed - but weren’t halla eyes always a silver-grey colour like the rest of them? 

Dudain approached cautiously, looking from Zevran to the stag and back with an uncertain whine.

“Can you not see this is Theron?” Zevran asked, and the mabari barked in confusion.

“Yes, I know. But it  _ is _ him. It was a shapeshifting accident, regrettably, but he will be fine. Can you not smell the magic on him?” Zevran continued, and he saw Dudain’s nose twitch.

Theron took a wary step forwards, and lowered his head slightly to look Dudain eye to eye.  The two stared at each other, before Dudain let out a happy whine and nudged Theron on the cheek before he trotted back off to lie by the campfire again. Zevran chuckled.

“There, that is perhaps the most pressing issue solved, no?” He suggested, and Theron huffed at him.

Of course, Theron could be of little help in the dinner preparations, and couldn’t actually eat the stew that Alistair had prepared anyway.

“I think having a valid excuse to not eat his cooking is a worthy reason to become stuck in another form.” Leliana whispered to where Theron lay calmly on the ground beside the seats, his thin forelegs neatly tucked under him, and he snorted quietly back in agreement around chewing his cud.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Alistair protested, but the forced silence and lack of eye contact from everyone else - dog and halla included - told all.

Oghren looked up from his empty bowl and the third flask of the night, squinting at Theron.

“So… Yer a deer?” He asked. Theron let out a weary sigh, and Zevran shook his head in disappointment.

“Oghren, are you blind?” Morrigan asked conversationally.

“Nope. Just drunk.” The dwarf grinned widely. “So, elf, you’ve turned into one of them hallas the Dalish use for pullin’ their crap around.”

Theron stared at the dwarf as he kept chewing, and blinked slowly.

“Think we could put a saddle or something on you?”

“If that didn’t work on the dog, I doubt it’s going to work on  _ Theron _ .” Alistair pointed out as he prodded sadly at the remains of his stew. 

Zevran bit the inside of his cheek. He dearly wished he could make some kind of lewd joke about Oghren riding Theron, but he knew he would definitely get either a war axe or a fresh set of pointed antlers embedded in his chest for that trouble.

Theron tossed his head and snorted loudly in agreement.

“Come on, imagine it!” Oghren protested, leaning back to grab another full flask he’d set down behind his seat. “If you end up not changin’ back to normal, what about a  _ chariot _ , eh? Spiked wheels, the crest of my house emblazoned in the front... I can just see it. And you, my great sodding deer-horse… Thing, shall charge into the fray, while I stand in my chariot chopping to the _left_ and to the _right_.” Here Oghren demonstrated, waving the hand holding his flask wildly left to right and spraying a fine amount of alcohol that made the flames hiss and Sten frown when the drops hit his cheek. “We would fell thousands!” 

If it were possible for deer to glare, Zevran was certain that Theron was giving Oghren his usual death glare.

“Ah, you have no vision!” Oghren grumbled, taking a deep swig from what drink remained in his flask.

Theron shook his head, and shifted his weight as he lay beside the campfire. His silver fur glinted in the firelight, given halos of bright orange and yellow where it was closest to the light that rippled as he moved. Dudain padded over from where he had been sprawled out beside Alistair after scrounging for scraps, and then lay down quite happily beside his master. Apparently he’d accepted that Theron looked and smelt very strongly of halla for the time being. Again, the two exchanged glances and sniffs before returning to their own businesses of lying in front of the fire.

The conversation flowed easily as the meal went on, Zevran cautiously poking at what he _hoped_ was a lump of rabbit or perhaps a too-large chunk of onion. He watched Theron’s ears keep flicking and twitching as he listened to each speaker, going forwards or back in response to the changing tones of their voices. Obviously, he could still understand what everyone was saying, but couldn’t talk in response. How unfortunate. At least he still seemed able to nod and shake his head.

It was only when the others began to retire to their tents for the night that Zevran realised that Theron might not be able to get into his own, and given his current predicament certainly wouldn’t be able to curl up with his lover.

“Hm.” The former Crow sighed, looking towards the other elf’s tent. “I suppose you could still get into your tent and sleep in there, if you wished?” He mused, edging along the bench now that Leliana had vacated her seat on the end beside the transformed elven mage. Of course, the other option was that Theron could sleep outside like Dudain occasionally did, but that seemed unfortunate.

Theron opened his eyes, having closed them against the fire’s warmth some time ago, and snorted in what the Antivan knew had to be derision.

“All right. I simply did not want to be the first one to suggest you sleep outside as if you really were a halla.” 

The shapeshifter blinked at him, and then slowly unfolded his legs, getting to his feet and stretching elegantly. Zevran smiled, getting to his feet as well.

“Perhaps you will keep Sten company on first watch, hm?” The blond suggested, reaching out to uncertainly, awkwardly stroke Theron’s cheek. The trials of saying goodnight to your lover when he was in the form of an animal. Kissing was definitely out, and hugging simply would have felt too awkward. So, Zevran hoped that Theron wouldn’t be too offended that he’d just been stroked like a horse, and with that ducked into their shared tent for the night. It felt oddly empty, even when the dog joined him and got the very rare treat of being able to sprawl out on the furs without a protesting master to shove him off immediately.

Hopefully it would only take a day or two before Theron was able to shapeshift back, as interesting as being a halla must have been.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the only thing I've written so far about Theron being a mage, but it'd be an interesting take on his character so I might end up doing another piece in this AU.  
> I'm amazed I resisted the urge to add deer puns.


End file.
